


Sharp

by Tarash



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Blood Kink, Knifeplay, M/M, PWP without Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-27
Packaged: 2018-04-06 12:06:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4221141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tarash/pseuds/Tarash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Ronon indulge in a little knifeplay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sharp

“This is a terrible idea,” John mutters.   
  
“This was your idea,” Ronon replies, twirling the knife in his fingers.   
  
John stares at the way it catches the light and glints. “Yeah.” But right here, right now, with his shirt off and Ronon straddling him, he's all too aware of the dangers as well.   
  
Ronon stops, leaning forward. "If you've got another idea..."   
  
"No," he says immediately, meeting Ronon's concerned eyes. He breathes out, and drops his head onto his pillow. "No, I asked for this, I want you to do it."  
  
Ronon lets out an amused huff. "There are plenty of other things we can do." He leans in to kiss John all too briefly.   
  
"Use the knife," John says, managing a nervous smile. He's jerked off over this little fantasy plenty of times, and he trusts Ronon more than anyone, and the guy knows how to use a knife. If not with him, then with who?   
  
Ronon leans back, twirling the knife again. It's one of his favourites, with a slight curve to the blade. "All right."   
  
John inhales as Ronon settles across his hips. Oddly enough, the weight on top of him makes him feel safer. He closes his eyes, breathing out again, and starts when he feels Ronon's fingers trail up and down his chest, gentle and light. "I said -"  
  
"I know what you said," Ronon replies. "Calm down."   
  
John shifts slightly, humming contently as Ronon keeps stroking his chest and sides. They're usually a lot more frenzied, too impatient for gentle touching, too eager to get to each other's cocks. But this, this is nice.   
  
When he feels a cold sliver an inch above his bellybutton, he opens his eyes, raising his head. It's the blade, and he holds his breath, pulling in his stomach.   
  
"Ssh," Ronon murmurs, his eyes on his knife, his other hand still stroking John's side. "I'm not gonna cut you." He traces the tip of the knife further up, the sharp blade pressed against John's skin, but never drawing blood.   
  
John's fingers curl into the sheets underneath him. The feel of the blade is incredible, cool and sharp, and he whimpers when Ronon traces it back down, circling his bellybutton before going down. If he wasn't still wearing his trousers, would Ronon have gone lower? His cock hardens when Ronon presses the full width of the blade against his side, the sudden coldness shocking him.   
  
"Still good?" Ronon asks, moving the width of the blade up John's side, across his ribs.  
  
"Uh huh," John manages, breathing in carefully.   
  
"Thought so." Ronon sounds smug as he shifts, pressing his groin against John's. It's clear John's not the only one enjoying himself.  
  
John closes his eyes again, letting Ronon trace patterns across his chest, circles and spirals. From the bluntness and the firm way Ronon presses it against John's skin, it's clear he's using the back of the blade now. It doesn't feel nearly as good. “Use the other side.”   
  
“I might cut you.” Ronon pauses the knife just below John's left nipple.  
  
“That's –” John swallows hard. “That's fine.”   
  
“You're sure?”   
  
John opens his eyes to look at Ronon, and nods. “Yes, I'm sure.”   
  
“Your call.” Ronon turns the blade so the sharp tip is pressed against John's skin. He traces it until it's in the middle of John's chest, then presses down until he draws blood.   
  
For the first few seconds, John doesn't feel it, then hisses at the slight pain. “I'm fine,” he gasps. More than fine.   
  
Ronon slowly drags the knife down, a thin line of blood welling up. He stops a few inches above John's bellybutton, then lifts the knife and leans down to lick it up, his tongue warm and wet against John's stomach.   
  
John groans at the sight, watching Ronon move up his body, his pink tongue lapping up the blood.  
  
Ronon lifts his head, grinning down at John before kissing him.   
  
He can taste his own blood, and oddly enough it only makes him hotter, more desperate. “Ronon,” he mutters. “I've changed my mind.”   
  
“Oh?” Ronon asks, a hint of worry in his warm eyes.  
  
“This was a great idea.” He wraps his hand around the back of Ronon's neck, and pulls him in for another kiss.


End file.
